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### Nuts.
Be uneasy.
A little more uneasy than that.
A bit less... yes... that's right.

One day, I kept forgetting to buy some peanuts. I finally got around to it, but between buying them and getting home, somehow, they had disappeared. The next day, the shopkeeper tried to tell me that I had left them on the counter. I wasn't having this - I knew that the peanuts had escaped. He offered me another, identical bag of peanuts as a vile bribe, but I wasn't taking his hush nuts. I am now dedicated to finding out the true story of what happened that day. The regression therapy is taking a long time, but everything I discover I will put in this page.

#### Chapter One

### Vital Peanut Background

There is some useful information on the side of every packet of peanuts. It is not in big letters, so only the curious nut-eater will know this. Small children can choke on peanuts. I can see why they don't make this knowledge more public. People would be off choking children everywhere. And the nut companies know that the chokable children of today are the voracious nut lovers of tomorrow. Tomorrow being a metaphor for many years, of course.

My friend got a peanut stuck up his nose when he was five. He survived (although he might not have done had he been in a car crash at the time). I am not disappointed; I didn't know him when he was five, and it is not a particularly impressive story to say that someone you never knew died with a peanut up their nose.

Some people are allergic to nuts, as well. Just pop one nut in their gob and they blow chunks every which way but loose and any which way you can. It gets even worse; some people cannot be in the same room as a cashew without their heads caving in. The very worst case of recorded nut allergy was Dionysius Taylor, a very old man who actually exploded when exposed to Pistachio shells. With a force equivalent to two bombs. Took out a whole house and startled a couple of nesting tits.

So you can see - I wasn't taking my journey to the shops lightly. These nuts were fucking lethal. So, I was to buy a bag of nuts, not dally with the pretty assistants, get the nuts home and eat them before they ate me.

How different a result fate had planned for me that day....

#### Chapter Two

### Preparations

First, I put on my hat. A wide-brimmed fedora; so wide-brimmed in fact, that it has been declared an honorary sombrero by a real Mexican. This would keep the sun out of my eyes. A brief glimmer of sunshine had distracted Tim Cooper in his 1995 attempt to buy nuts from a pick and mix store. Pure folly - the unbagged nature of the nuts allowed them to overwhelm him, leaping into his nose and mouth, and salting his eyelids. He never speaks of his ordeal, because he is dead.

I checked my money - the exact change. Take two bags to the counter, one to give to the cashier with the money - they need the barcode, you see - and one with which to run frantically to my designated nut gobbling spot - the local pub. Nuts are fearsome, but not so stupid as to start a fight in The Spayed Cat.

Hat, money, gun.... yes, the gun was there. Just in case. It wasn't even loaded. Well, of course it was loaded, there's no point carrying an unloaded gun, but it only had small bullets in it. I didn't want to be a hero, but I didn't want to be a dead not-hero either. Not that there's anything heroic about fighting nuts - I'm not glamourising this whole situation, you know. Just a man's got to cover his arse. Especially when there's an army of hazelnuts trying to cram themselves up there.

Hat, money, gun, wig, trolley, torch, knife, case, spare hat just in case, spare money completely in case, myself not in case at all. I was just about ready.

#### Chapter Three

### The Year Is 2039. Humans And Nuts Now Live Under A Shaky Ceasefire.

Sidling mysteriously up to the shop, I reassessed my strategy. Should I be sidling? Would a rolling gait be more appropriate? An arrogant swagger? Or a breezy mince? An aimless meander? A lively canter? Confused, I fell over. Which turned out to be all for the best, as a bag of Tobago Chili nuts sailed through the air my head had previously occupied. Some cunt had tipped off the nuts.

It was no use entering the shop now. I had to reassess the whole situation. Before the Tobago Chili nuts could correct themselves for another assault, I grabbed them, threw 50 pence into the shop and ran, ran like the runs. I tried not to look around at the distubance behind me, but in the days to come I would read about enraged nuts and the tragic dry roasting of a pregnant woman.

The Spayed Cat. Refuge in a crazy world. I reeled towards the bar. And there was Peggy, sweet Peggy, stood with her wobbling back to me. An oasis of soothing eyewater in a world where zebras are so cruelly camoflauged in patently unsuitable colours. Her tumbling hair glistened, whether with natural sheen or the glow of lard from the deep fat fryer, I didn't know. I appreciated the way her arse rippled as she let slide a discrete fart that only I noticed. I felt closer to her than I ever had done before, sharing that fart. I set my Tobago Chili nuts on the counter.

Peggy turned around. She looked different. By the time I'd realised that Peggy was in fact a 5'10" cashew nut wearing Peggy's scalped hair, it was too late. Damn, but that nut had hips....

#### Chapter Four

### The Year Is 2045. Nuts Have Grown To The Size of Humans And Can Move Things With Their Brains.

I have currently run out of money to pay for my regression therapy. Any donations will be gladly received and perhaps I will finally be able to solve this earth-shaking mystery....